


Queen's Gambit

by Silbrith



Series: Arkham Files [10]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, White Collar
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Historical, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Neal and his friends travel back to Elizabethan England to prevent a royal marriage.
Series: Arkham Files [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/480910
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Time Anomaly

_Notes: Queen's Gambit takes place after the events in the 9th Arkham Files story, Standing Stones. Find additional notes at the end of the chapter._

* * *

**  
Arkham, Massachusetts. Saturday, March 13, 1976.**

At the sound of the crash, June winced and closed the novel she'd been reading. That one was louder than the previous thuds. Was someone getting a little carried away?

The initial idea to convert part of the basement into a training room had seemed reasonable. Neal and his friends would be able to work out in private, and there was plenty of space for floor mats. Henry also insisted on fencing equipment, claiming that since time travel was a real possibility, swordsmanship was a necessity.

Now that Sara had moved back to Arkham, she was eager to teach Neal martial arts techniques. Henry didn't need any boost in his ability, but he volunteered to take part in the lessons. June suspected his primary role was to give Sara a worthy opponent. Neal had never been a fighter, and if the past week's training was any indicator, that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Neal liked to claim that his secret weapon would make it unnecessary for him to fight. Why stay around to engage in combat when he could sneak out of danger? But his argument would be more successful if he was more adept.

When another even louder thud rattled her coffee cup, June set her book down on the end table to check if it was time to call for the medics.

Sara and Henry were sparring on the mat when she peered down the staircase.

"Sorry, June," Sara said, giving a tug to her ponytail. "Are we making too much racket?"

"Yeah, June, tell her to go easy with me," Henry complained, but his grin indicated he wasn't serious. "Sara was demonstrating a judo move. It goes something like this." He clasped Sara's arm and with one lightning-quick twist sent her sprawling on her back.

She blew the hair out of her eyes. "You're a quick learner."

"Where's Neal?" June asked, approaching the mat. "He should be taking notes."

"You don't see him?" Henry asked.

June scanned the basement. Next to an old dresser, the air seemed a little hazy. Suddenly Neal popped into view. Panting heavily, he sagged against the dresser.

Sara checked her stopwatch. "One minute twenty seconds. A new record."

"That's enough practice for now," Henry said, giving Neal a once-over.

"I just need to catch my breath," Neal protested. His actions belied his words as he slid down the side of the dresser to the floor.

"How many times did you make yourself invisible today?" June asked.

"Four."

She frowned at him. "I thought Elizabeth restricted you to a maximum of two attempts a day."

Neal winced. "Don't tell her. The earlier experiments weren't for very long. If I'm ever going to build up endurance, I need to practice more."

June didn't challenge his statement though she easily could have. From her perspective, Neal's newfound ability was a double-edged sword. Neal had discovered that he could render himself invisible to those who didn't have algolnium in their body chemistry. As a practical matter, that included all humans except for the members of their group, now known as SCAGR thanks to Henry dubbing them a bunch of Scholar-Adventurer-Guardian Reprobates. Only June and Cyrus, SCAGR's chemist, had declined to be injected with algolnium. When Neal was invisible to June, supposedly he appeared like a viridian-colored ghost to Henry and Sara.

She understood why Neal was excited at the possibilities, but he seemed oblivious to the toll it was taking on him. Each successive attempt left him more exhausted. Why try to be invisible for a minute or two if it left you in no condition to do anything else? Neal insisted his endurance was improving, but she saw no indication of it. She knew Sara and Henry were also concerned. Sara had told June privately that they worried Neal would resume practicing in secret if they began hovering over him. At least this way, they'd be around if he injured himself.

"It's nearly lunchtime. Anyone interested in sandwiches?" June asked, seizing on a diplomatic excuse to call a halt without appearing to be a wet blanket on their activities.

The dining room table was soon laden with cold cuts, rolls, potato chips, carrot sticks, and chocolate peanut butter cookies. Neal was the only one besides June who cooked. Henry had moved into an apartment a couple of blocks away but took many of his meals here. As for Sara . . .

"Now that you're back in Arkham, are you going to resume your cooking lessons with June?" Neal asked her.

"You aren't trying to distract me from judo, are you?" Sara asked.

"Would it work?" he asked. "In that case, I insist on it."

"I didn't realize June was offering cooking instruction," Henry commented, slathering mustard onto a hoagie roll. "I hereby volunteer to be the dessert taster."

"You're a braver man than I gave you credit for," Sara said, heaving a melodramatic sigh. "Anyone who's tasted my cooking knows that I'm even deadlier with it than martial arts."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, dear," June protested, keeping her tone sympathetic. "Your cooking is much better than your singing."

She moaned. "You're revealing all my secrets. I was hoping to hide that one from Henry."

"I attempted to give Sara lessons last fall," Neal explained. "It's not her fault she didn't improve. She moved to London after only a couple of sessions."

"And now I'm far too busy with newspaper assignments to waste time on what would certainly be a futile effort," Sara said, reaching for a carrot stick.

Henry shrugged. "There's always tambourine. Even if Sara's tone-deaf, which I doubt seriously, she can master it in no time. I know she'll want to be a member of the SCAGR rock group once Jack builds that annex."

"Is this Jack Dorian you're talking about?" June asked.

Neal nodded as he swallowed. "His new cook at the coffeehouse is a rock enthusiast. She had a group in high school and is working on him to build a rock club. Something to compete with The Jungle disco."

"I predict she'll be successful," Sara said confidently.

"Do you have some inside knowledge I'm not aware of?" Henry asked. "Last time I talked with Jack, he wouldn't budge."

She smiled knowingly. "Yeah, but did you catch the glances he tosses Tracy's way? He's sweet on her. Give her a couple of months and she'll get him to do whatever she wants."

"Oh really?" Neal challenged. "Is that what you thought about me too?"

"Never," she declared, but her cheeks flushed. "You were much harder to crack than Jack."

June leaned toward Henry. "Did anyone warn you that Sara's into matchmaking?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured. "Perhaps I should prepare my list of requirements."

"Excellent idea," Neal supported, making June wonder if anyone mentioned Neal's enhanced hearing ability to Henry. "Sara, you have a new mission—"

The beeping of Neal's com-link interrupted him. June still didn't feel comfortable with the device Mozzie had fabricated with the help of Milly. What looked like a cigarette case was actually a portable telephone with a visual display. All the members of their group were equipped with one.

When Neal opened the case, Lavinia's face appeared on the screen. "You are at June's?" she asked. Her voice sounded even more brusque than usual.

"Yes. Henry and Sara are also here."

"Good. They need to hear this too. I've discovered a time anomaly and have called for a briefing at three o'clock this afternoon. That should give Mozzie and Milly enough time to conduct initial research."

"Where will we meet?" Henry asked. "Mozzie's lab?"

"No, the Gilmans' house. That will be more convenient for Elizabeth."

When Lavinia rang off, June asked, "What did she mean by a time anomaly?"

"The Meropians have long feared that Azathoth would acquire the ability to manipulate time," Neal explained. "When Lavinia arrived on Earth, she prepared a database of Earth's history to use as a control. The Meropian equivalent of a computer conducts a daily comparison of the contents of history books in the library with the database. In theory, any deviation should be detected. To my knowledge, this is the first instance of a positive report."

"I overheard Nigel and Raquel plotting in London," Henry added. "Azathoth has conserved a few crystals on Tirelia. He intends to use them to track down crystals that were created in the past."

"They're similar to the one Neal and Peter found in the cave in England," Sara said. "The crystals come in several colors and have different capabilities. It's feared Azathoth could use them to reopen a wormhole capable of transporting the Ymar to Earth."

"I thought that was impossible," June protested, horrified at the thought of the Ymar establishing a beachhead.

"That's what the Celaenians believed when they banished the Ymar," Neal said. "But they might have been unaware that the Ymar had captured Elnath scientists and taken them to Tirelia. The Elnath created the crystal technology to manipulate wormholes. They could have figured out a solution for their masters."

Henry frowned. "Why don't the Elnath grow their crystals on Tirelia? Not that I'm complaining, but it seems like they would have been providing Azathoth and his goons all the crystals they needed."

"I'm sure the Ymar tried to make that a reality," Neal said. "But Tirelia may not have the right chemical composition. Milly explained that Earth's core is unusually rich in a special isotope of algolnium. That's why the Elnath came here in the first place. They'd hoped to turn Earth into a vast crystal garden, supplying all their needs."

"This will likely be our first trip back in time," Henry said, his eyes glinting with excitement. "After lunch, report back to the basement."

"Not more judo," Neal moaned.

"Nope, we'll focus on fencing instead. In most of Earth's history, what counted was your skill with a blade, and yours, my friend, is in the cellar."

"But I have a stack of papers to correct."

"Sorry, saving the galaxy has to come first," Henry insisted. He made a good drill sergeant. June would have sided with Neal, but she knew he'd be one of the travelers, and for his own sake, he needed the training.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was difficult for Neal not to feel guilty about her situation. El pointed out that she could have experienced similar difficulties even if she hadn't received algolnium, but Neal knew that Lavinia believed the rare chemical was the culprit. She'd seeded algolnium in Peter, El, Mozzie, Sara, and Henry. Everyone had volunteered for the procedure except Peter, but that didn't ease Neal's sense of responsibility. They'd all done it so they could assist him. The element gave them the ability to see ghasts and travel via wormholes. But did the benefits come at too steep a price?

"We'll use the living room," El said. "Lavinia will scold me if I don't keep my feet up."

"Is the nausea any better?" Sara asked.

"I think so. Cyrus called," she quickly added, appearing eager to change the subject. "He's running a batch of experiments on the perfume that Raquel wore in Marrakesh and needs to continue his work. He said he'll have Mozzie update him later."

Lavinia and Mozzie's arrival cut short Neal's questions about the nature of the experiments. As the others took seats on the couch and side chairs, Mozzie brought in two chairs from the dining room for himself and Lavinia. He placed them in front of the maple cocktail table which Neal suspected would soon be covered with documents.

"Are any of you students of Elizabethan history?" Lavinia asked unexpectedly.

"I studied Shakespeare," Sara said. "Does that count?"

"It might. Do you know if Elizabeth I of England ever married?"

Sara's brow wrinkled. "No, but she came close. She was betrothed to a courtier . . . I can't remember his name."

"Robert Dudley," Peter supplied. "The engagement was broken off about a month later. Scholars still puzzle over the cause."

Lavinia took a slow breath. "You've confirmed my suspicions. It's not only the books which are affected. Your memories are as well. That's to be expected, but it confirms the gravity of the anomaly."

Henry scowled. "Just what memories are you talking about? I forgot anything I'd ever learned about the queen over ten years ago."

"Your history has been altered," Lavinia explained calmly. "The first ripples have already appeared. In the database I'd made upon my arrival on your planet, I can verify that there are no records of Elizabeth I ever having been betrothed to Robert Dudley or, for that matter, to anyone else. I received an alert of the anomaly this morning. Milly proceeded to run a diagnostic on the books in the library. Reference is made to the queen's betrothal in all the works containing her biography."

Peter leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "You believe the cult is actively working at Elizabeth's court?"

She nodded. "The cult's actions could have devastating repercussions to your timeline." She paused to scan them. "Think about what would happen if a zoog were planted in the queen's brain or that of her close advisors? Your history would be altered with potentially profound consequences."

"What year did she become betrothed?" Sara asked.

"In April of 1569. It's been only a month since you thwarted the attempted invasion of zoogs into England. I doubt Azathoth made any move before then, so I'm hopeful we have a narrow window to salvage your history." Lavinia pulled a thick book out of her worn tapestry satchel. "If you need any additional proof, look at this photo." She opened the work, a biography of the monarch, to a bookmarked page. "Notice anything unusual about the queen's attire?"

The portrait was similar to many Neal had shown. It showed Elizabeth in an elaborate formal gown. She was posed by symbols of her power. The underskirt was richly embroidered with plants and animals.

Sara took the magnifying glass Lavinia offered and scrutinized the embroidery. She pointed at one animal. "This looks like the creature that attacked Neal and Peter in Azathoth's fortress on Kadath." She turned to Peter. "A cthylla, I believe you called it. You described it as looking like a winged octopus."

Peter nodded as he stared at the image. "The wings were similar to those of a bat. The body was dark gray with broad yellow stripes."

"And this creature looks identical," Neal added gloomily. He'd hoped to never encounter them again.

El swallowed, looking shaken. "Proof not only of the wormhole but of cthyllas on Earth."

"First zoogs, now cthyllas," Henry muttered. "This also proves cthyllas can be seen by humans. Whoever did the embroidery must have been able to observe it."

"Not necessarily," Sara countered. "The seamstresses could have been given a drawing. There may not be cthyllas on Earth, but there's no doubt about the cult."

"Not only that, but the likelihood of an Elnath cave," Neal said. "Remember, Azathoth's primary objective is to acquire crystals. He could be seeking the same cave Peter and I discovered."

"A worthy theory," Mozzie said, "but Milly and I found an even more likely target. After the discovery of the anomaly, Milly searched for crystals actively transmitting in 1569." He turned to Henry. "Since Elnath crystals are organic, she's able to detect their wave resonances."

"Did she find anything?" Henry asked.

Mozzie nodded. "A ruby crystal, but not the kind that we've discovered associated with wormholes in Arkham. This is an immense gem. The color is a dark pigeon-blood red. Milly was able to pinpoint it to the Pyx Chamber in London."

Peter stared at him. "That was the treasure vault in Elizabethan times. It's where the Crown Jewels were stored."

"Precisely!" Mozzie said, excitement causing his voice to rise. "I postulate that this crystal is the jewel known as the Black Prince's Ruby. It now is in the Imperial Crown, but in Elizabeth's time, it was part of what we call the Tudor Crown. It was the state crown used by monarchs starting with Henry VIII and ending with Charles I."

Henry whistled softly, his face lighting up as much as Mozzie's. "Breaking into the Tower of London to steal the Crown Jewels—now that will be a heist for the record books. I was rather hoping, though, that time travel would be involved."

"Then you'll have your wish," Mozzie assured him. "It would do us no good to steal the Imperial Crown. The present jewel is not an Elnath crystal. At some time in the past, the ruby was replaced. The Tudor Crown disappeared during the English Civil War. What was believed to be the ruby was recovered by Charles II during the Restoration. By then the original Elnath crystal must have been lost or stolen, and had been replaced with another one."

Henry's smile widened. "Meaning we get to steal into a vault _and_ engage in time travel. Man, it doesn't get better than that!"

"Plus wear costumes," Sara said jubilantly. "I hereby volunteer to be in charge of our wardrobes."

"Now, wait a minute," Peter objected. "We're not about to drop into Elizabeth's court. Is that even possible? Wouldn't we damage the timeline even further?"

"Milly assures me that thanks to the crystals you unearthed in Morocco and England we do have that capability," Mozzie said.

"As for damaging the timeline, Peter raises a valid concern," Lavinia said. "But the contamination has already occurred and will only grow worse if we don't act. Still, we must keep your stay as brief as possible."

Neal exchanged glances with Sara. She looked as enthusiastic as he felt. Infiltrating the court, preventing a royal marriage, stealing a jewel from the crown, any one of the tasks sounded impossible. Was that why it was so enticing to him too? If they were successful, perhaps someday they'd also be able to banish the Ymar from Tirelia.

"We must move quickly," Lavinia declared. "The nuptials have been scheduled for six months from now. So far the history books don't mention that it ever took place, but the longer the time anomaly exists, the higher the risk of permanent contamination. I propose we adjourn to the university library to formulate a strategy."

"Research isn't my gig," Henry declared. "You should send me ahead to scout out the situation. Thanks to your nifty alien language amulets, I'll have no trouble fitting in." He turned to Mozzie. "I assume your time machine is cranked up and ready to go?"

Mozzie smiled. "It is." 

A million objections raced through Neal's head. El came out with the first one. "Henry, you'll need appropriate clothes and a basic understanding of the times before you leave. You say you're no scholar. You'll have to be if you want to attempt this assignment."

"Milly can handle the clothing needs," Lavinia said. "The parameters Mozzie establishes for the wormhole will include garment transformations." She paused, eyeing Mozzie's baggy corduroy trousers and worn tweed jacket. "But he'll need help in configuring the settings."

Neal found it strange that Lavinia didn't raise any objections. Had she been expecting all along that something like this would happen?

"Leave that to me," Sara declared. "I'll be able to design appropriate attire based on paintings from the period. The library has several excellent books about Elizabethan fashion. I consulted them when my college theater group put on a production of _Taming of the Shrew_." She paused, her eyes widening. "I could meet Shakespeare!"

"But there's another issue," Mozzie said. "So far I haven't been able to duplicate the compendium which you'll need to use to return to our time. If Henry takes it back, he'll have to ensure its safety. All of you will be reliant upon it."

"And that's not the only problem," El said. "Smallpox was a major health risk during the period. You could be exposed to bubonic plague, return with unknown pathogens—"

"In this instance, your concern is unwarranted," Lavinia said. "As long as the travelers return through the wormhole, it will eradicate any health complications they picked up." She paused to eye all of them. "But that's only if you're alive when you enter the vortex. From death there is no recovery. I won't minimize the risks." She turned to Neal. "How do you wish to handle it?"

"I'll go," Neal said, "but it's too dangerous for anyone to accompany me."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Don't think for an instant you're going on your own. My offer still stands. You need advance reconnaissance and that's in my wheelhouse. Besides, time travel this far back has never been tested. I'm the perfect guinea pig. I'm much more expendable than the rest of you."

That kind of reasoning made Neal want to ax the entire plan.

"And you'll need me along as well," Sara insisted. "Where else will you find a woman who can charm courtiers and then give them a karate chop to keep you safe?"

"No decisions will be made till we've stitched together a plan," Peter said and checked his watch. "After a break for dinner, we'll head for the library."

"I must call Cyrus," Mozzie declared. "His experiments will have to wait. We have a ruby to create."

Henry grinned. "You can do that?"

"With Milly's help, we'll have to. You can't simply walk off with the Black Prince's Ruby without leaving another one in its place. That's Elementary Thievery 101."

"Are you sure you'll be able to forge a duplicate jewel for the crown?" Peter asked skeptically.

"Milly is confident we can. We have access to excellent documentation on the current ruby." Mozzie's face took on an awe-struck expression. "The jewel Cyrus and I create in the lab will eventually be placed in the Imperial Crown." His swallow was audible, and it also sent a ripple of tension through Neal about the responsibility facing them. If the queen married, would there even be an England? Would the United States exist?

"No one's leaving before dinner," El said. "I'm eating for two and Baby Gilman gets cranky without a meal."

They decided to order takeout from Peter's favorite Chinese restaurant, the Jade Dragon. Preparations would continue while they ate. While the others selected their dishes, Peter pulled Neal aside. "Let's go into my study to talk."

Had his wife's condition worsened? Neal watched uneasily as Peter closed the door. "Is El okay?" he asked.

"We're both making sure she gets adequate rest and her blood pressure is stable, but I'm glad you brought El up. She's been open about her symptoms, not like someone else I know." He perched on the edge of his desk and arched an eyebrow. "Care to explain why?"

Neal winced. "I'd hoped it wasn't that obvious." 

"It's not," Peter assured him, providing a modicum of comfort. "The others don't walk up the stairs of Wingate Hall with you or walk home together at the end of the day." He hesitated a moment. "I talked with June and she confirmed my suspicions."

"Have you told El?"

"Not yet."

"Good. There's no reason to tell her. She's got enough on her mind between her pregnancy and her patients. What I have is not an illness."

"Let's be clear we're talking about the same thing," Peter said. "You're suffering from a form of muscle weakness?"

Neal nodded. "It started last month when I began channeling algolnium energy. The fact I could use it to close a wormhole demonstrates how necessary the skill is." He paused to give what he hoped was a carefree smile. "And being an invisible man could come in very handy, you have to admit."

Peter nodded sympathetically. "You were able to heal your shoulder by those attempts. I can hardly fault you for it."

"But harnessing the energy is exhausting work. It's like my muscles are being drained. I know the ability is not something Meropians possess. The only one capable of providing insights is Milly."

"Not an easy situation to be dependent on a Celaenian construct."

"Tell me about it," Neal agreed, keeping his sigh brief. "And Milly's not much help. The Celaenians never experienced any difficulties. I'd hoped that through practice the side effects would diminish. Instead, the opposite appears to be taking place. It takes me longer to recover from each practice session. What gave me away?"

"I first noticed it on the stairs at Wingate Hall. Your usual bounce has turned into more of a plod."

Peter was kind. He didn't mention the hand shakiness Neal was trying his best to conceal.

"If your assessment is correct, there's an easy solution," Peter added. "Stop the training sessions. Be honest, are you experiencing any benefit to them?"

"That's the problem," Neal admitted, "because I am. The act of focusing is becoming more natural. I'm able to stay invisible for slightly longer periods of time. These are skills that could prove invaluable in the field. I probably overdid it this morning, but I didn't realize we'd be going out so soon."

"You need to tell the others," Peter said. "Let us help you. I can't dispute that you're uniquely gifted to confront the challenges facing us. But if you collapse, you'll only be a liability. The others need to know the drain that's being put on your body. In those situations where it's absolutely necessary for you to become invisible, we'll be better able to cope with the aftermath."

Neal took a breath. It still felt like he was being forced to own up to an embarrassing weakness. He was supposed to be their champion, and he was failing them. "I'll let Sara and Henry know, but please don't tell El. It will only add to her stress about the mission, and this isn't something Earth medicine can fix."

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading and welcome back to Arkham! Queen's Gambit has 4 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday. Mozzie had a major hand in the writing of this story, and you'll detect some of his favorite themes. I've written about some of the hidden threads in my blog post: "[Vault Acquisition: Queen's Gambit](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/08/arkham-vault-queens-gambit.html)."_

_Background information for new readers: FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. She is now sharing writing duties with Mozzie. Most of the characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development. You may wish to check out the resources on the[Arkham Files](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/p/arkham-files.html) page of the blog I co-write with Penna: [Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/). There are also brief summaries of the previous stories._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Story visuals and music: The Queen's Gambit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_  
_Twitter:_ [ _@silbrith_ ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)


	2. Spymaster

**Arkham, Massachusetts. Saturday, March 13, 1976.**

Peter reluctantly relented to Neal's request. El would eventually need to know about the issues associated with Neal turning invisible, but under the circumstances, Peter could wait to inform her. There was no doubt that Neal's presence was essential for the journey. It was up to the rest of them to ensure that he didn't collapse before he got the opportunity.

When they reconvened in the library vault, Peter assigned himself the task of devising a strategy to persuade an imperious monarch to break off an engagement. That period in Elizabeth's reign was dominated by William Cecil. He was her chief advisor, serving as both Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer. More than anyone else, he had the queen's ear. Had he been infected by a zoog? Was there any way for them to know? The only previous known cases had been diagnosed after an inspection of their cranial cavities. Somehow in Cecil's case that didn't seem practical.

Neal's sensitivity had increased several-fold since the days of Martin Keller. Perhaps he'd be able to detect a zoog parasite. If there were ghasts lurking within humans at court, Peter should certainly be aware of it, but Henry and Sara might not yet have sufficient algolnium in their systems.

Peter glanced around at the group. They'd spread their materials on the central reading table in the vault. Sara, Neal—even Henry—had a stack of books in front of them. Lavinia and Mozzie were carrying on a low-pitched conversation at one end of the table.

Their objective was to dispatch Henry the next morning. Thanks to the time distortions inherent in a wormhole, Henry could, in theory, spend months in Elizabethan England and then return to their timeline at a prearranged time which in this case would be a few hours later. But as a practical matter, Henry should conduct his work as quickly as possible before causing any further disruption to history.

"We've got a date!" Mozzie said excitedly, breaking into Peter's thoughts. "The queen held an elaborate reception to welcome the new French ambassador in May 1569. It was only a week after the betrothal announcement."

"Where was the reception held?" Neal asked.

"Whitehall Palace," Mozzie said. "The palace no longer exists, but during Elizabeth's time it was her primary London residence. For our purposes, the location is ideal. It's conveniently located near Westminster Abbey. The Pyx Chamber where the Tudor Crown is stored is part of the abbey complex."

Peter exhaled, his qualms rising unbidden to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Neal, Henry, and Sara were all clearly excited at the prospect. Mozzie would be the last one to exercise caution. Lavinia alone wouldn't likely be swayed by the emotions of the moment so he turned to her. "Assuming we're able to appear at the reception without being tossed into the Tower, will the language amulets work with Elizabethan English?"

She nodded calmly. "You used them successfully in ancient Egypt. England will be much less challenging. Milly will even be able to program them for you to have a foreign accent. For instance, you may wish to be a delegation from an overseas country."

"Like Sweden," Neal suggested eagerly. "Peter, you'd like that. You've always had an affinity for Vikings, and the country is remote enough, I doubt strongly there's normally any Swedish representation at court."

"I'll find out," Henry offered. "If there is, you could be Finnish instead."

"I wish I could go with you," Mozzie said, heaving a regretful sigh, "but my place is here. Milly and I need to be available to lend assistance. Our primary challenge will be to create a suitable replacement for the ruby. The Tudor Crown is only depicted in one painting of questionable accuracy. You'll need to use your com-link to relay an image of the ruby so we can create an exact duplicate. I'll then transmit the replacement through the wormhole."

"Are you certain the com-links will work through a wormhole?" Peter asked, floored by the notion that they could be in contact with their group despite the vast time difference.

"It's a simple matter of gravity wave resonances within the algolnium ether," Mozzie said, "or at least that's what Milly affirms. We'll hold up our end, but how will you break up the royal engagement?"

"The key is William Cecil," Peter said. "He needs to believe that either Dudley is a traitor or that he's being manipulated by traitors. If we can do that, Cecil will convince the queen for us."

"Walsingham is your best bet," Lavinia said, tapping the book in front of her. "He's known as Elizabeth's spymaster and employed cryptographers on his staff. If he receives an incriminating document from a source that he believes is trustworthy, he'll take it to Cecil who will then alert Elizabeth."

It seemed illogical that an alien could be such an expert on Earth's history, but Lavinia claimed that ever since she arrived on Earth, she'd been preparing for precisely the sort of crisis they were now facing. Meropians had long considered that at some point Azathoth and his fellow Ymar would resort to time travel to acquire the crystals they needed. And if they were able to reenter Earth, the entire galaxy would once more be accessible to them.

"How will we be able to forge a document which will pass muster with a spymaster?" Sara asked worriedly.

"Neal's an artist," Mozzie said. "I'm sure he possesses the latent genes of an expert forger who's been impatiently waiting to rise to the surface." He smiled benignly at Neal. "We intend to give you that opportunity."

"In 1569, the air was poisonous with plots," Lavinia added, appearing to accept Mozzie's assertion even as Neal stared at his friend in shock. "Most of them revolved around Mary of Scots. Walsingham was instrumental in exposing several attempts to depose Elizabeth and replace her with Mary. Your task will be to persuade Walsingham that the cult wants to do precisely that."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El sighed, frowning at her reading material. She would have much rather spent the evening in the library vault than in the perusal of medical journals. Satchmo and a cup of herbal tea were her lone companions. "Little one, your adventures will be much more exciting, I promise," she murmured to their baby.

Was it any wonder she drifted off to sleep? She was awakened by the sound of a key in the lock. While Satchmo rushed to the front door, she hurriedly righted her pillows.

"Still up?" Peter asked, stepping into the room. "It's almost midnight." He took off his overcoat and tossed it onto a chair.

"You know me. There's nothing like a fascinating article on psychiatric comorbidity to keep me wide awake."

He chuckled and leaned over to kiss her before sitting on the couch. "You were fast asleep, weren't you?"

"But now I'm not." She curled her legs underneath her so there'd be more room for him. "I'm eager to hear what's been decided."

"We have the framework of a plan," he said. "I'm to be an ambassador, from Sweden no less. The city of York was a stronghold for Scandinavian settlers since the days of the Vikings. I intend to tell Walsingham that I stopped off in York on the way to England. There, one of my contacts told me of a plot he'd intercepted. A cult member has turned a naïve Dudley into an unwitting pawn in an effort to depose Elizabeth in favor of Mary, Queen of Scots."

"You actually think you'll be able to convince him?"

Peter exhaled at the enormity of the task ahead. "We hope to," he hedged. "Neal's working on a forgery of a letter that will supposedly be from King Philip of Spain. He was a known ally of Mary and supported numerous attempts to overthrow or assassinate Elizabeth. Walsingham was already aware of his machinations in 1569, the date we've chosen. There are copies of documents written by Philip in the library. Neal will be able to prepare the letter in advance. All he'll need to do in England is add the name of the traitor."

"Assuming you can identify them," El pointed out. "From where I'm sitting that's a huge challenge."

"Not quite as much as you might think," he countered, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her toward him. "For the queen to be swayed, the enemy has to be highly placed. A reception for the French ambassador will be a draw for all the powerful members at court. During this period, England was attempting to encourage greater tolerance for Huguenots in France. Before history was rewritten, Walsingham voiced his support for a marriage between Elizabeth and one of the French king's brothers as a means to further influence the French court. Walsingham can't be in favor of the betrothal to Dudley. It's yet another reason he should embrace our news."

As El listened to Peter's explanation of the strategy, his excitement was palpable even though he was attempting to temper it. Peter's specialty was the Neolithic Period, but he was fascinated by the courtly intrigues and political machinations that occurred throughout history. This would be a chance for him to take that knowledge to restore history. Heady stuff for anyone but especially for someone with his interests.

"Henry will leave tomorrow morning," Peter said. "His destination is Whitehall Palace. He'll arrive in a couple of days before a planned reception in honor of the new French ambassador. Henry's job will be to determine if we'll be able to plausibly infiltrate the reception."

"If Henry pops into a palace, won't he immediately be thrown into some dungeon for being an intruder?"

"I'm not happy about it either, but it won't be as dangerous as it sounds. Security was much more relaxed during that period. It's nothing like trying to break into the White House or Buckingham Palace in the twentieth century. Mozzie will configure a location along the Thames near London Bridge. Henry recommends a midday arrival. He asserts the chances of him being spotted when the streets are crowded will be much less than if he were to arrive in the middle of the night. There were no bobbies on patrol in Elizabethan England. The richness of Henry's attire will make others automatically treat him with respect. Garments were an indication of status. He's confident he'll be able to bluff his way out of any unpleasantness."

El smiled. "I'm sure he relishes the opportunity. Henry was probably getting bored with quiet Arkham." She could have raised a hundred other concerns, but the decision had already been made. Worst case scenario, if Henry found himself in a situation he couldn't handle, he could use the compendium to blast himself back to the present time.

"Sara is also over the moon to be going along. She's preparing detailed descriptions of our wardrobe needs. Mozzie's assured us Milly will be able to configure the appropriate attire when we're in the wormhole."

"You said the com-links are supposed to work. I'll insist on seeing all of you in your silks and velvets. Who will most resemble a peacock?"

"It better not be me. I've already nixed any slouchy caps with long plumes."

"As an ambassador, you may have no choice." El chuckled. "I'm sure you'll be very handsome in your tights and doublet." She paused for a moment. It was becoming more difficult to conceal her concern about the dangers they'd face. "What are the issues you haven't told me about?"

Peter groaned. "We'd be up all night if I enumerated them. Here's just one of many. Assuming this works, we'll drop into Whitehall Palace and mingle with the aristocracy not to mention the queen herself. The information we'll acquire will be staggering. Not just about the people, but the buildings, many of which no longer exist. Much of the London went up in flames in 1666. Whitehall was destroyed about twenty years later. We'll have to force ourselves not to divulge anything we've learned. That knowledge is not meant to be ours in this timeline."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Your notes will go into the vault along with so many of your other findings."

He nodded glumly. "At least with the Neolithic artifacts, they can be put on display even though we can't mention anything about the alien races associated with them. You're going to have a very frustrated archaeologist to deal with." He gave a rueful smile. "I'll try to keep my grumbles to myself."

And she would as well. It didn't escape her notice that of all the concerns Peter had, he picked the most lighthearted one. Her thoughts were more on smallpox, cholera, the bubonic plague, and a host of other diseases they'd be exposed to. The one small comfort was that if some disaster occurred, they'd be able to send word back.

El didn't pursue the subject. They'd already gone over their greatest fears. Peter's concern was that if anything went wrong, he wouldn't be here for her and the baby. Her rebuttal was that if he didn't go on the mission, the world awaiting their baby could be a far more dangerous place.

Her thoughts drifted to Sara. This would be her first mission through a wormhole. She wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter left to return home, the rest of them decided to reconvene at Mozzie's lab in the science building. Lavinia supplied them with book bags to lug all their reference materials.

As they walked to Derleth Hall, Sara was glad Lavinia was along to serve as a reminder to be cool and professional. But what a kick! She could select the fabrics, the colors, the styles, and then let Milly the wizard transform them into actual clothes.

The queen was known to be fond of dancing. The reception for the ambassador was bound to include music. Sara had taken some dance classes in college but knew very little about historical practices. Giving herself—and the others—a crash course in the customs of the period would be tomorrow's assignment.

Sara groaned that she hadn't started preparations months earlier. She should have been spending her free time studying historical costumes and customs. Learning how to cook was so low on the list of priorities, she might as well go ahead and scratch it off.

Who knew where they might need to go to next? Paris during the time of Napoleon? Ancient Rome? St. Petersburg? Medieval Italy? Henry was right. Fencing was an absolute essential.

She turned to Neal. "Do you know how to ride a horse?"

He looked at her blankly. "I thought we were infiltrating a reception."

"That's _this_ time. What about the next mission? Horsemanship is just as valuable as skill with a blade."

"Sara's right," Lavinia agreed. "Assimilation into a foreign culture presents an array of challenges which you would all be well advised to work on. I regret I didn't have more time to study Earth's culture before I arrived." She glanced at Neal. "If I'd been more familiar, I could have avoided several painful mistakes."

"You did remarkably well under the circumstances," Neal quickly said. "I hope we're able to come up to your standard."

Henry was eyeing them thoughtfully. It was the first time Sara had heard Lavinia acknowledge inadequacies, although she must have regretted abandoning Neal on the streets of Arkham when he was a small boy.

"We'll take our lead from you, Sara," Neal said. "With your acting experience, you won't have any difficulty in pretending to be a member of court. I'm the one who should be nervous."

"After all the fake dates we went on?" Sara challenged. "You were able to fool your students and they can be a tough audience. Since the courtiers don't know you, they'll be much easier to deceive."

"What's this about fake dates?" Henry asked, his eyes narrowing. "Somehow you neglected to mention them. As head of security, I demand details."

"For another time," Neal said firmly, flicking a glance at Lavinia.

When they arrived at Mozzie's lab, they once more divided into teams. Neal and Henry turned a corner of the lab into forgery central. Lavinia had collected several samples of the Spanish king's handwriting for Neal to copy . . . once he learned how to use a quill. And that turned out to be the greatest challenge of all. The inkblots he made would be worthy additions to the Rorschach test.

Cyrus was working in his chemistry lab on the floor below where he was preparing an analysis of the current Black Prince's Ruby. The information would be relayed to Milly to guide her in fabricating an exact duplicate.

Lavinia offered to work with Sara on costumes. Sara knew the Meropian was a student of history but fashion was a different matter. How could a woman who routinely dressed in an old-fashioned tweed skirt and jacket be any help? But Sara didn't want to hurt her feelings and expressed her gratitude for the assistance.

"Have you taken into account the status of each man when choosing their costume?" Lavinia asked. "It would be highly inappropriate for Neal and Peter to be clad in the same manner. And what have you decided on beards?"

Sara swallowed. "I hadn't gotten to facial appearances yet." Mainly because she hadn't realized she'd have to configure them too.

"Beards are essential," Lavinia declared firmly. "Otherwise they'll be considered sickly, but they must be carefully trimmed. Their hair length will all have to be adjusted, of course."

"Of course," Sara murmured, scribbling notes.

"Show me what you picked out for Peter," Lavinia ordered.

Sara opened an art book to show her the painting she'd selected. It depicted a group of courtiers surrounding the queen. "I thought the man in emerald-green velvet looked particularly fine," she said. "The color suits Peter. Do you think Milly will have any issue with the plumed hat?"

Lavinia scowled. "The style you chose is unacceptable. Peter is supposed to be an ambassador. He should be clad in black, similar to the man standing behind the queen."

Sara sighed. The portly fellow seemed to be a poor role model. The breeches were baggy, his jacket ill-fitting.

The corners of Lavinia's lips twitched into the hint of a smile. "But the look you chose for Peter will work well for Henry. And for yourself, as a princess, your dress should be appropriately regal." She removed a book from Sara's stack and skimmed the pages rapidly. "This one should do nicely with a pearl net to contain your hair."

Sara blinked at the gown Lavinia had chosen. It was much more resplendent than the one she'd picked out. Her heart sang as she imagined herself dancing in it.

"You realize your face will need to be whitened. Fortunately, there won't be any need for you to use the lead paste that was so popular at the time." She paused to study Sara. "Your hair coloring can remain but Milly will need to heighten your hairline by at least an inch."

"I had no idea you were so knowledgeable," Sara admitted. "I would have made a hash of things without you."

Lavinia chuckled. "You assumed because of my clothes I knew nothing about fashion."

Sara felt heat rise to her face.

"Don't be embarrassed. That's exactly the impression I wanted to give." Lavinia leaned forward and whispered, "Don't tell the others. This will be our secret."

Lavinia's eyes twinkled, making Sara wonder what she was really like. She could transform herself to resemble anyone, but what did she look like on Merope? Sara longed to ask her but she could already predict Lavinia would refuse to answer. If Sara didn't pry now, she might increase the probability of future confidences.

When Lavinia finally ordered a halt, it was well past midnight and everyone was dragging. Even the librarian's dark brown skin was lined with fatigue.

Since Sara's return from London, she and Neal had been taking turns staying at each other's home on weekends. Today she'd already planned to spend the night with him in the loft. Gypsy, her red Beetle, was in a campus lot reserved for faculty. Since Neal didn't own a car, he'd stuck his permit on Gypsy's windscreen.

On the way home, they dropped Henry off at his apartment with the promise to meet him at the lab the next morning. A thousand tasks continued to spin in Sara's mind, and she wasn't alone. Henry would contact Fei Hong in London to fill her in on their plans. The Meropian was in charge of Gideon Talmadge's financial empire while he was away. Last month Gideon had decided to relocate Talmadge Holdings to Arkham. Henry was responsible for procuring office space and having it customized to Fei's specifications.

If the mission went as expected, by Sunday evening everyone would be safely back in Arkham. It seemed incredible that Sara would return to her news desk Monday, but such was the nature of time travel. Neal would be back teaching classes, and she already knew he planned to finish reviewing papers before going to bed.

Perhaps that was for the best. There simply was no time to be nervous.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal awoke to his shoulder being shaken. He looked up at Sara groggily, for a minute forgetting why she was there.

"You need to come to bed," Sara insisted. "Those student papers can wait till Monday morning. Trust me, as a former student, I can remember vividly my joy at not receiving homework back."

Neal smiled as he rubbed his eyes. "Can I use the excuse that the demands of forging a document prevented me from grading them?"

"It works for me." She tugged on his chair. "Come on. Normally, I don't have to ask you twice to join me in bed."

When Neal had dozed off, Sara was sitting beside him reading a book on Elizabethan etiquette. Now she was clad in one of his pajama tops and apparently nothing else. The sheets were folded back invitingly.

Neal quickly stripped and joined her under the covers. Sleep could wait. No matter what happened the next day, the night was theirs, and he wasn't about to squander the moment by bringing up the side effects of algolnium energy.

Earlier that evening, Neal had discussed the subject with Henry as Peter had requested. But the talk hadn't been necessary. Henry said both he and Sara were already aware of the difficulties but weren't making an issue of it. They all had limitations as well as strengths. Based on what Henry said, there was no need to discuss it with Sara. If Neal were to bring it up now, she'd be concerned that he didn't feel he was ready for the mission. This was hardly the time to show weakness.

To have any chance of success, she needed to believe that somehow he'd be able to discover who the cult member was. Henry might be able to replace the ruby without his assistance, but no one else could identify the traitor. Peter's adage of faking it till it becomes real came to mind. Neal needed to project self-confidence even when there was precious little of it.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry reported to Mozzie's lab promptly at eight o'clock the next morning. He'd stopped on the way over to load up on hot bagels from the bakery. Mozzie had said he'd provide lox and cold cuts. This would be the last regular meal Henry would have for a while. In a few hours, he'd have to live off whatever Elizabethan fare he could scrounge.

Sara wanted to instruct the travelers in dance, but Henry had a higher priority. Neal's thief skills were non-existent. Henry had already tasked himself with the delicate work of extracting a jewel from the crown and replacing it with a forgery. But if something went wrong, Neal might need to replace the jewel instead. They only had a few hours to practice before Henry was due to depart. Fortunately, Neal was a quick learner. Playing the guitar had provided good training for his new life as a thief and con artist. Not, of course, that Henry used those words. They were scholars dedicated restoring Earth's timeline and preventing an alien invasion. Henry was even getting to the point he could say that with a straight face.

His first trip in a wormhole . . . no wonder he hadn't slept the previous night. He was used to slipping into unusual surroundings, but normally he was in disguise before he left. Here he was ready to blast off to Elizabethan London, and he was still in jeans and a flannel shirt.

The moment to leave arrived all too quickly, and with it, doubts began to surface. "You're sure the wormhole will transform me?" Henry asked Mozzie.

"I have programmed the date correctly." The female voice coming from within the armillary sphere still sounded creepy. Milly was supposed to be a vivacious woman with short curly blonde hair, not an assemblage of brass hoops. "Your appearance will be exactly as Sara requested."

"Call us as soon as you can to alert us you made it safely," Neal said. "We'll be able to see your attire then." From his look of longing, it was obvious that Neal wished he was accompanying him.

"Henry will be fine," Peter told Neal. "I have it on good authority that armillary spheres never lie."

"You've got your compendium and your com-link," Neal asked for the umpteenth time, not appearing reassured by Peter's comment.

"Relax, man. This isn't nearly as dangerous as my usual job." That was stretching the truth but they didn't need to know that. Going into hostile territory without a weapon was not his preferred method of operating, but Mozzie assured him a dagger would appear along with his clothes once he was in the vortex. "Let's get moving," Henry said. "What should I do?"

"Simply stand in front of the machine." Mozzie directed him to face a monitor which displayed multicolor waves.

"See ya in a few hours," Henry said, plastering a confident grin on his face. "Hit it, Mozz."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Welcome to our world," Mozzie slapped Neal on the back. "What you're suffering from is wormhole-envy. We've all been there. The first time is the roughest. You'll quickly grow accustomed to it."

"I don't want to get used to it," Neal protested. "This is like watching the shantaks fly off into the sunset."

Sara crossed her arms. "Do you really want to remind your unlucky teammates that we didn't have the opportunity to ride one?"

Neal winced. "Sorry."

Lavinia tapped her watch with one finger. "If you can manage to pull yourselves away from whining, we only have a few short hours to prepare. June has invited us to her house. Her larder is much better equipped than Mozzie's."

"Milly and I will stay here and monitor for anomalies," Mozzie said. "We've reconfigured all your com-links so that any transmissions will be recorded here as well."

"I'll meet you at June's," Peter said. "El wants to attend the preparations. I'll stop by the house first and pick her up."

Lavinia rode with Neal and Sara back to June's. She used the opportunity to lecture them on the powerful people they'd likely encounter at court.

Neal realized that the weekend was passing like a dream sequence where time had little meaning and nothing appeared logical. The wormhole which would transmit Henry's com-link signal was programmed such that all his bulletins would arrive within a narrow window of three hours. At four o'clock that afternoon, they fully expected to undertake the trip themselves.

Henry called Neal's com-link shortly after they arrived at June's. "The Eagle has landed," he whispered. "Can you see my thumbs up?"

"As well as your beard!" Neal said, grinning at his new look. Henry's hair was a little longer than before. The beard was neatly trimmed to a point. 

The others all clustered around to view Henry in his Elizabethan attire. "You look the image of the Renaissance courtier!" Sara crowed. "I can't wait till we join you."

"Any difficulties?" Peter asked.

"Nope. I heard Mozzie tell Milly to blast me to England, and the next second I found myself on a quay next to the Thames. Man, you didn't exaggerate the filth I'd find. Get ready for the stench. London smells worse than a latrine."

Neal was already prepared for it. With no sewer system, the inhabitants dumped chamber pots directly onto the streets. Human waste would be everywhere, and the palace wouldn't be spared.

"I'm calling from the courtyard at Whitehall," Henry continued. "I'm behind a hedge, so no one can see me but I better keep this short. The main news is that the reception is no longer two days from now. It's being held this evening. According to the church bells, it's currently just after four o'clock. The festivities begin in two hours. Mozzie, did you catch that?"

"I'm reading you loud and clear," Mozzie said. "I'll make the necessary adjustments."

"Good, in light of that, I don't plan to return to Arkham. There's no need."

"That will simplify my task," Mozzie said. "Milly can use your signal to determine the arrival point for the others. Have you picked an appropriate site?"

"Yeah, lock onto my present location. If you wait to arrive at the great hall till after the reception has begun, there should be so many people milling around, a few additions won't merit much attention."

They agreed to meet Henry shortly after the ringing of six bells. He didn't plan to call them again unless he ran into difficulty and would spend the afternoon scoping out the Pyx Chamber where the crown jewels were held.

Neal exhaled. So far so good. Soon they'd be joining Henry. Sara's eyes were sparkling with excitement. Even Lavinia relaxed into a smile.

"I wish I were going with you," El said wistfully.

"Perhaps someday our child will be accompanying us both," Peter said, clasping her hand. "But for now you'll have to let your husband, the Swedish ambassador, represent the Gilmans."

Neal's cover was a younger son of John III, King of Sweden. Sara would masquerade as his wife. Neal had decided to call himself the Duke of Marstrand and hoped no one in Elizabeth's court had ever visited the charming seaside town. He was fully prepared to talk in Swedish if necessary.

Sara's hope of teaching them Elizabethan dances was dashed as there was barely enough time to practice the elaborate courtly bows. Anything else they'd have to improvise. Sara grabbed each of them for wardrobe consultations then rushed back to Mozzie, equipped with a picnic hamper of food.

Promptly at four o'clock, Neal, Sara, and Peter took their positions in Mozzie's lab. Team SCAGR was ready for liftoff.

* * *

_Notes: Henry was quoting Neal Armstrong when he said, The Eagle has landed." Armstrong used the expression in 1969 when the lunar module landed on the moon. Mozzie's remark about Neal having the genes of a forger sounds like he has inside knowledge about a certain Neal Caffrey. Readers of A Caffrey Christmas Carol know where his information comes from._

_I hope you'll join me next week when we'll hitch a ride into the wormhole with Neal, Peter, and Sara.  
_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_   
_Story visuals and music: The Queen's Gambit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_   
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	3. Pyx Chamber

**Whitehall Palace, London. 1569.**

As soon as Neal exited the vortex, he spun around to help Sara. By now, Peter was usually able to remain upright, but this was Sara's first time. Exiting a wormhole was like being ejected out of a tornado. Maintaining your balance afterward was no easy matter.

This time, though, they were all disoriented—not so much by the wormhole but by their appearance.

"God's Bones," Henry said, with a grin. "What a fine group of worthies you are. You'll note my Elizabethan slang is improving by the minute."

Sara's hair was now elaborately frizzed and adorned with a net of pearls in the back. Her gown of white and tangerine damask, complete with white starched ruff, was based on a painting. Her face had been whitened and her hairline lifted. Only her eyes looked the same.

She approached Neal and stroked his jawline. "Your beard suits you, my lord," she murmured. 

"Should I stop shaving?"

"Maybe sometimes," she smiled mischievously. "It makes you look a little devilish. We could get into trouble."

Peter groaned. "There will be no getting into trouble on this mission." He straightened up and puffed out his sleeves. His beard was longer than Neal's. It made him look several years older and added an extra note of authority to his countenance. Unlike Neal's russet-colored garments, Peter was dressed in sober black.

Neal's name for the mission was Nils, Duke of Marstrand. Sara was using her same name which was also common in Sweden at the time. Peter was to be known as Lord Kalmar. As for Henry, Sara had dubbed him Lord Henry Bingley.

Neal had brought with him a leather satchel containing a quill, the forged letter, and extra paper. All he'd need to add was the name of the traitor, assuming he could identify him. Henry would safeguard the implements till they were needed. Their com-links were secreted inside small pouches attached to their waists.

Henry had picked their arrival point—a hedge bordering a courtyard of the palace. "I've been watching the guests arrive," he said. "There must be hundreds attending. You should have no problem blending in."

"We should all stay close till the cult member is spotted," Peter warned.

"Before we go in, who wants this?" Henry asked, pulling out the compendium.

"Peter should keep it for us," Neal said and was glad Peter didn't raise any objections. He was in the best position to protect their lifeline home. If Neal and Henry were caught stealing the jewel, the compendium could be confiscated, perhaps even destroyed.

"I hope they have food at this shindig," Henry said, seemingly unconcerned about the risks awaiting them. "I already snatched some cheese and a piece of some kind of pie. It tasted like fish. Was it?"

"More than likely," Peter said. "Fish pie was a staple in Elizabethan cuisine. Food should be relatively safe to eat, but don't drink the water."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Who'd want to drink it? I bet it comes straight from the Thames. I lifted some coins and bought a beer while waiting for you to arrive. I'm happy to report the ale scores a thumbs up."

Sara batted her fan of feathers impatiently. "My lords, the reception awaits. Shouldn't we proceed to the palace?"

They didn't need Henry's help with directions. They could simply follow the crowd into a lofty hall. Musicians played on a balcony, but the music was drowned out by the babble of voices. Peter introduced them to the guard at the entrance, who accepted their identities without question.

Once inside, Henry split off. Their goal was to identify Walsingham. If they couldn't find him, their backup plan was for Peter to approach Cecil. The queen had yet to make an appearance. Peter believed it was likely that Cecil would accompany her arrival.

Neal held his arm out at an angle for Sara to rest her hand on, a mannerism she'd demonstrated in Arkham. The formality of the gesture helped remind him he was the son of a king, and his rank was therefore higher than most everyone else present. They'd earlier decided not to introduce themselves unless approached but simply nod regally, counting on their appearance to sell the con.

Neal flinched as the air pressure shifted. A sudden chill sent shards of ice through his veins.

Sara eyed him worriedly. "What is it? Your arm's turned cold."

"Do you sense the cult?" Peter asked in a low murmur.

Neal nodded, his eyes flicking from one clump of courtiers to another. "The man in black velvet to our right. He's standing next to a portly man who looks like Falstaff."

"The one with the wispy brown mustache and the elaborate chain of office?" Sara asked.

"That's the one. He has an aura of grey smoke around him just like Nigel and Raquel did at the castle ruins last month." Neal continued to study the man. His physique was similar to Nigel's. Could he be the same person?

The courtier's appearance appeared to dissolve in front of his eyes. Neal blinked rapidly as the hidden identity grew apparent. A brilliant red stone in the center of his necklace emitted the distinctive shimmer of algolnium radiation.

"The monks of Nyarlathotep on Tirelia also possessed auras," Peter said. "Don't stare at him. Continue walking. Let's aim for the opposite side of the hall. I don't want Neal anywhere near him." Peter turned and scanned the crowd. "Where's Henry?"

"He's under the musicians' balcony," Sara said, "and heading our way." She tugged at Neal's arm impatiently. "Keep moving, we need to distance ourselves."

"The alcove under the balcony is a good area for us to talk," Peter said. "We'll be less noticeable."

Neal fought the instinctive urge to hide. The amulet was reassuringly warm on his skin. He suspected it was glowing. He caught Henry's eyes on him and flicked a quick jerk of his head to the far corner of the alcove. Henry gave a brief nod and adjusted his direction.

The crowd was continuing to increase, helping to mask them from the cultist. Even so, when they arrived at their targeted spot, Peter had Neal stand next to the wall with the others shielding him from view. When Henry arrived, Neal pointed the man out.

"I'd seen him earlier in the day," Henry said. "That's Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk."

"He has another name," Neal muttered. "Nigel Griffin."

Peter stared at him, shocked. "The British cult leader?"

Neal nodded, clasping Sara's hand. "And Sara's former boss at the _International Herald Tribune_. Nigel has somehow possessed Howard's skin."

Henry's brow furrowed. "You told me ghasts could also hide within people. Does that mean Nigel's a type of ghast?"

Neal shook his head. "I don't think so. A ghast looks human but can't talk."

"You're sure it's Nigel?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "The outer skin is translucent. I can see Nigel's face underneath it."

"Perhaps he traveled here the same way we did," Sara suggested. "His appearance was transformed to resemble the real Howard who was either killed or is being held a prisoner by the cult."

"No, it's a different technique," Neal insisted. "When I look at Peter, I can't see through his beard to his clean-shaven face. And there's something else. That large red stone in the center of Nigel's chain of office is an Elnath ruby. I bet that's a crystal to escape back to Tirelia once his task is accomplished."

Henry nodded his head thoughtfully. "I gotta give the guy credit. He's hiding it in plain sight where it will always be readily available. It's a smart move on his part."

Peter frowned. "That crystal complicates our mission. We'll need to acquire it as well before we head back."

"You better leave the snatch and grab to me," Henry said. "I'll work something up."

"Did you have any luck in finding Walsingham or Cecil?" Sara asked Henry.

"Only a confirmation that they haven't arrived."

"Since the queen's not here, I doubt Dudley is," Peter said. "That gives us a window to complete the forgery."

"And I have just the spot," Henry said. "It's a small antechamber behind the musicians' gallery."

"Neal, you should head there with Henry," Peter urged. "Stay as far away from Nigel as possible. We have no idea what species he is or what abilities he has. He may be able to detect you just like you did him." Peter turned to Sara. "Let's put your investigative skills to work and find out the status of Walsingham and Cecil."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal and Henry's departure from the hall allowed Peter to breathe a little easier. The odds of Nigel recognizing him and Sara were not as high.

Sara worried her lower lip as she watched Neal and Henry disappear into the crowd. "I wish I'd done more to change Neal's appearance."

"It might not have helped," Peter said, seeking to console her. "If Nigel zeroes in on him, the algolnium in Neal's body or the radiation emitted by his amulet could be just as likely a culprit."

Sara nodded reluctantly. "And if Nigel's an algolnium sniffer, he could detect it in us as well." She took a breath. "Are you familiar with Howard?"

"He's a cousin to the queen, wealthy landowner, and one of the most powerful men at court."

She winced. "In other words, ideally placed to help the cult, just like in London. This time, though, he's in an even more powerful position."

Peter nodded absently. "I wish we knew whether Nigel replaced his body or is simply impersonating him, but I don't know of any way to distinguish the two. In any case, it's irrelevant for our purposes. Howard's profile is just as useful for us as it was for the cult."

"What do you mean?"

"Howard was executed in 1572 for having plotted to overthrow Elizabeth and replace her with Mary. This eliminates any guilt we might feel over destroying his reputation in this timeline."

Sara relaxed into a smile. "It was already meant to be." She puffed out her sleeves with her fingers as she eyed a cluster of women standing to one side. "Those women look like they enjoy a good round of tittle-tattle. Wish me luck. I hope to find out more about the queen and Dudley."

When Sara departed, Peter set his sights on Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, a man he'd recognized from his portrait. The courtier was a close friend to Cecil. In the untainted timeline, he was also Robert Dudley's trusted advisor. Had the cult managed to lessen his influence so that now Howard filled that role? Or Throckmorton could also have been corrupted. Peter had to assume the worst, but even so, Throckmorton might help him identify Walsingham and Cecil.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal and Henry returned to the hall, Sara strolled over to meet them. Neal spotted Peter standing next to a distinguished man clad in black garments similar to Peter's clothes.

"Still no sign of the queen?" Henry asked.

"Not yet." Sara nodded in the direction of two elegantly clad women. "I chatted with two of her ladies-in-waiting. The queen is expected any minute. She'll likely be accompanied by Dudley, and Walsingham will also be in the group of courtiers attending her. The women believe the queen wants to announce a wedding date, but Cecil is advising her to hold off."

Neal passed her the letter. "We should head on out," he said. "Give this to Peter when you can."

She nodded wistfully as she secreted the document in a hidden pocket of her gown. Neal knew Sara would love to go with them, but in her finery, it was impossible. "Godspeed, my lord husband," she said, making a curtsey.

"You've got a treasure," Henry murmured as they left the hall. "Don't let anyone steal her away."

"I'll do my best." 

On the way to Westminster Abbey, Neal stopped to call Mozzie. The countdown to steal a ruby had begun.

Earlier in the day, Henry had scouted out the location of the abbey, a short ten-minute walk from Whitehall. The crown jewels were stored in the Pyx Chamber, a vaulted space in the undercroft of the monks' dormitory next to the abbey. According to old records, the massive oak door was secured by seven keys of varying dimensions and was kept heavily guarded at all times. This was one door Henry wouldn't be able to use his lock-pick expertise on. Instead, they'd devised a workaround.

They planned to conceal their courtier outfits under the black vestments worn by the clergy. "Borrowing" the garments would be Henry's challenge. The next step would be up to Neal.

Mozzie had prepared what appeared to be a marble such as was common in Elizabethan times. In reality, it was a sophisticated homing device crafted to Milly's specifications. The marble looked like wood but was made of a rubber-like substance to dampen any sound of rolling. Neal would need to place it next to the entrance door. Mozzie could then use the signal transmitted from the marble to calculate the precise location Neal and Henry needed to appear within the chamber.

Mozzie used the _Star Trek_ term of _beaming_ to describe the process. Neal would go first. If anyone was in the chamber, he'd press the emergency button on his com-link to be beamed out. Otherwise, Henry would then be transported in to join him.

While Henry sneaked into the dormitory to borrow vestments, Neal took the opportunity to explore the Chapter House. He'd visited the chamber when he was a student at Oxford, but to see it in its Elizabethan splendor was a revelation. The central octagonal space was now lined with tall oriel windows of magnificent medieval stained glass.

After only a few minutes Henry slipped into the Chapter House, carrying a dark bag. They ducked behind a column to slip on the black cassocks.

"I found the entrance to the chamber," Henry whispered. "It's been walled off from the rest of the dormitory. Unfortunately, we won't be able to get very close before you'll need to turn invisible." He frowned. "The time you'll need to remain invisible could be longer than you've ever attempted. To lessen the risk, I'll create a diversion and try to lure them away."

"Putting yourself in greater danger? Forget it. I need you in the Pyx Chamber. Don't worry about me. Necessity is a great motivator."

Henry eyed him unhappily, but Neal knew he had to go along with the original plan as it gave them their best chance of success. "I'll be just outside," Henry reluctantly agreed. "At the sound of any commotion, I'll charge in guns blazing."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Don't forget the Prime Directive."

"To hell with the Prime Directive and _Star Trek_. But if you want to cast yourself as Spock, go ahead. That means I'm Kirk, and he's always right."

Neal hadn't planned to assume the Spock mantle but he wouldn't mind having the Vulcan's coolness under pressure. He stuffed his plumed hat inside his doublet and placed the black cleric's cap firmly on his head. Henry led the way to the dormitory and down the stairs into the undercroft. They kept their eyes lowered as if they were deep in prayer. Neal had placed the marble in the pocket of his cassock where it would be readily available.

"Ahead is the staircase leading to the Pyx Chamber," Henry murmured. "You'll have to cloak yourself for the rest of the way."

Neal grinned. "So now I'm a Romulan Bird-of-Prey?"

Henry muffled his snort. "Just be careful, okay?"

They retreated into the shadows where Neal removed his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he directed his thoughts to the celaenite crystal in his amulet. As he focused, the crystal slowly expanded in size until he seemed to be within the faceted structure. He glanced down at his chest. It along with the rest of him had turned translucent greenish-blue. He was ready.

He darted down the staircase, in plain view of the two armed guards sitting in front of the door. The door was as massive as Peter predicted but there was about a half-inch gap at the bottom between it and the floor. If Neal could roll the marble underneath, there would be less chance of it being detected and it would pinpoint their destination.

So far no one seemed aware of his presence. One of the guards was looking straight at Neal as he inched closer. He had to wait till they started talking or they might hear the sound of the marble. His knees began to shake from the effort of maintaining his invisibility.

"When is Robin showing up?" a guard growled. "Wasn't he already supposed to be here?"

When the other grumbled about the hapless Robin's tardiness, Neal raced to the door, shoved the marble into the opening, and fled for the stairs.

His concentration faltered as he reached the first step. After a few more paces, his knees buckled. He dragged himself near the stone wall and fought his way upward. The guards were still talking. Hopefully, they didn't hear anything. Only two steps left to go.

By now he was fully visible. When he heard a sound, he attempted to raise himself. Maybe they'd think he'd been fasting and fainted. Henry popped into view as he was frantically framing a plausible excuse.

"Cutting it pretty close, weren't you?" Henry whispered, hauling him upright.

Neal nodded, saving his breath till they were back behind the column. "The marble's in position. I was able to roll it under the door."

"We'll need to wait till you're steadier before proceeding."

"I just need a minute," Neal insisted. At Henry's scowl, he added, "Okay, two at the most but we can't afford to delay."

It took almost five precious minutes before Henry agreed to proceed. Neal spent the entire time picturing someone entering the Pyx Chamber and finding the marble, but if anyone had, they weren't shouting about it.

Finally, Henry called Mozzie on his com-link. "The marble's inside the chamber. Scotty, beam us in."

"Aye, aye, captain," Mozzie said in an atrocious Scottish accent.

Within seconds they were both inside in the vaulted chamber. Mercifully it was devoid of anyone else. About the size of a small chapel, the room was strewn with large wooden chests. With no lights, it would look completely dark, and even with Neal's enhanced vision, he wasn't much better off. But they'd come prepared with miniature flashlights. And the obscurity guaranteed that there were no guards inside.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Right on target," Henry whispered to Mozzie. "Our algolnium sniffer is examining the chests." Neal was walking without an assist. When Henry found him on the stairs, his face was bleached whiter than Sara's makeup. Neal didn't look fully recovered, but most of the muscle weakness seemed to have left him. Henry knew wormhole travel healed wounds and injuries. Had the algolnium radiation present in the beaming process been sufficient to recharge his batteries? 

Neal beckoned Henry to an oak chest in the back. "This is it!" he whispered excitedly. "I can sense an energy source inside."

The chest was roughly the size of a footlocker. Unlike the others in the chamber, it rested on four short legs and was elaborately carved. Neal held the flashlight for Henry while he got out his tools. Although the lock was embellished with elaborate metalwork, the mechanism itself was straightforward. When Henry cautiously raised the lid, he let out a silent gasp. Man, what a haul!

Heavy gold chains, orbs, scepters, rings, and resting on a purple velvet cushion in the center was the Tudor Crown itself. Henry recognized it from a painting Mozzie had shown him. The crown was covered with emeralds, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, and pearls.

Neal pointed to the large ruby embedded in one of the fleurs-de-lis. "That's the one we want. Hold your light on it. I'll call Mozzie."

While Henry illuminated the dark stone, he studied the prongs holding it in place. Compared with other jewel heists, this one would be easy. The stone was so large, the prongs were relatively massive.

The link to Mozzie also went straight to Milly as did all their communications. The armillary sphere was supposedly already calculating the color, size, and quality to fabricate an exact duplicate. For years, the thrill of the heist had been a siren calling Henry's name, and now with Milly, he had the ideal moll. He could scratch his itch and save the universe in one fell swoop.

Neal smiled at Henry's grin. Had he read his thoughts? Or did he know him well enough, he didn't need to?

Within no more than a minute, thanks to the time distortions of wormhole travel, a duplicate ruby appeared on the floor next to the chest. Henry exchanged nods with Neal. The kid was about to experience his first jewel heist.

Henry fished in his cassock for his courtier's cap and nestled the duplicate ruby inside. It didn't seem fitting for it to lie on the floor. The gem looked to be an exact replica. And given all the effort Cyrus had made to duplicate the chemical composition, it was bound to be an authentic spinel ruby. This stone would eventually be part of the Imperial Crown—a sobering thought.

When Neal lifted the crown out of the chest and placed it on its side, his hands weren't shaking like they used to when he tried to make himself invisible. That was a relief. Henry could have done it all on his own, but he'd be faster with the assist. Slipping on his magnifying glasses, Henry set about the delicate task of prying open the prongs. The gold was soft and bent easily. It required the gentlest of touches. After a couple of nudges, he pulled the stone free. When Henry placed the ruby in his fellow thief's hand, the gem started to glow as if lit by an inner fire. Was it sensing the algolnium within Neal? Henry tagged that question for follow-up and returned to the task at hand.

Neal held the spinel in place as Henry carefully realigned the prongs. He wished it was possible to send the Elnath crystal to Mozzie, but it was up to them to keep it safe till they all transported back together.

Once the chest was closed once more, Mozzie beamed them back to the hallway. They slipped out without incident, hiding their cassocks in a convenient hedge.

Neal was unusually quiet during the walk back to the reception. Something was eating him. Henry hoped he'd speak up on his own, but it became obvious a nudge was necessary. "What's wrong?" Henry murmured. "We're on schedule. We got the crystal. You identified the cultist. You should be riding a high."

"We need to take Nigel down," Neal said, a frown crossing his face. "Somehow we have to ensure that he's not capable of carrying out Azathoth's instructions. Will the letter provide sufficient evidence? We won't know for a while since we're not staying around. What if Nigel claims he was framed? We need to make the case so ironclad he can't escape."

"You have something in mind?" Henry wouldn't try to ease his anxiety. It would have been pointless. Ever since Neal heard that Nigel was hitting on Sara, he'd suspected Nigel was attempting to take advantage of her. Sara hadn't been won over by his charms but Elizabeth and Dudley both appeared to be under his sway. What was the secret to the guy's magnetism? Was he taking advantage of some alien ability? Henry longed to get a sample of his blood for testing.

Neal shoved a hand through his hair before slapping on his courtier's cap. "Yeah, but Peter will hate the idea."

Henry shrugged. "Some things are better left unsaid."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When the queen entered the hall, Peter was able to check on the identities of the new arrivals by careful questioning of a courtier standing next to him. William Cecil and Robert Dudley accompanied the queen. Walsingham followed a few minutes later, taking a position in a loose clump of somberly-clad officials.

In 1569, the queen was thirty-six years old. She was a couple of inches shorter than Peter's Elizabeth and looked surprisingly frail despite her elaborate heavy gown. The heavy makeup she wore didn't completely conceal the ravages of smallpox. Her back was ramrod straight and he imagined that her angular features could cast an intimidating glare on anyone. But, at the moment, she only had eyes for Dudley. Symbolic of the hold Howard had over the queen was the gown she was wearing. Embroidered with sea monsters lurking among the stylized plants, it appeared identical to her attire in the portrait they'd viewed in Arkham.

Peter approached Walsingham and introduced himself.

"Lord Kalmar, England is honored by your presence." Walsingham made a brief bow. "I hope to have the pleasure of meeting Prince Nils."

Peter returned the bow with one of his own.

In 1569, Walsingham's career had yet to take off. In 1570 he would make a name for himself by unmasking the Ridolfi plot, a scheme to replace Elizabeth with Mary. Howard had been one of the prime instigators. His personal objective was to become Mary's husband. When the treachery was discovered, Howard was thrown into prison and later executed on Tower Hill. In the revised timeline, there was no mention of the Ridolfi plot. If Howard weren't stopped, would he succeed in marrying Queen Mary? Queen Elizabeth might be left on the throne but she would be a puppet to the Starry Wisdom cult, while Queen Mary's connections could be used to infiltrate the French court. The Spanish and Habsburg rulers could also be ensnared.

"I was honored to meet your former king, Eric XIV, during potential marriage negotiations with our beloved queen," Walsingham said. "I was highly impressed by him. His death was a blow to us all."

Peter nodded appreciatively. As a Protestant monarch, Eric was undoubtedly considered an outstanding candidate. "It is our fervent desire that King John will continue his brother's policies. Our country, like yours, has to be constantly on the lookout for papist elements. The new queen is Polish. Some fear she will strengthen papist influence."

Walsingham flicked his eyes. He'd be bound to make the connection to Queen Mary acting the same way. "We must also maintain vigilance in England. The King of Spain is suspected of encouraging treasonous factions within England. Sweden could also be targeted."

Peter nodded but held off on immediately presenting his evidence. "I was told the queen has decided on Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester," he said in a low voice.

"Negotiations are still preliminary," Walsingham murmured back.

"The queen is wise to be circumspect." Peter paused to scan the dignitaries surrounding Elizabeth. "I stopped off in York on my way to London." Walsingham would consider that a natural stopover given the number of Swedes who'd settled in Yorkshire during the era of the Vikings.

Peter leaned his head toward Walsingham and lowered his voice. "I have been working to ensure that the Spanish king does not interfere in the affairs of Sweden. One of my informants had troubling news about your own situation."

Walsingham's eyes flickered in recognition.

"It is not my place to judge," Peter continued under his breath, "but some believe Dudley and the queen are being victimized by the papist faction." He retrieved from his doublet the letter Neal had prepared and slipped it to Walsingham. "You will no doubt find this informative."

Walsingham glanced at it then secreted it inside his jacket. "Your excellency is staying at the reception?"

Peter nodded calmly.

"I'd like to speak further with you after I've had a chance to review this."

Walsingham quickly left the hall. Meanwhile, the tone of the music changed. Apparently the queen had requested dance music. For the moment she wasn't dancing but she commanded her courtiers to take to the floor. In his role of ambassador, Peter figured he was safe. That was until he saw Sara striding his way.

With a deep curtsy, she smiled up at him. "Why, thank you, your grace. I would love to dance with you." She added in an undertone, "This is an almain. It's slow enough that you should be able to follow, and any missteps will be because it's not well-known in Sweden."

Heaving a sigh, Peter held out his arm, letting Sara's fingertips rest on his hand. He reminded himself this was for his Elizabeth.

As they strolled to the center dance area, she murmured, "Your discussion went well?"

Peter nodded. "Walsingham's probably reading the letter now. Keep an eye out for him. I'm sure he'll want to discuss the matter further."

"I also have news. I was able to get close to Dudley. He's wearing the same cologne Nigel wore."

"You're sure?" Peter kept his face frozen into a calm smile, but his mind was racing. Cyrus had analyzed it and discovered it had the same key ingredients which were found in Raquel's perfume.

"Positive. You remember Neal and I speculated it might be some form of love potion since the priestess of Isis also wore it."

"Lavinia believed it was possible that it had been designed for humans and had no effect on those who had algolnium in their systems. That could explain why you and Neal were spared."

She nodded. "And why the queen would succumb to it."

* * *

_Notes: Neal thinks Peter will hate his idea. Find out why next week._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_   
_Story visuals and music: The Queen's Gambit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_   
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	4. Treason

**Whitehall Palace, London. 1569.**

Peter wasn't as bad a dancer as he claimed, and for Sara this was a dream come true. She hoped she'd be able to sneak in an additional dance with Neal later in the evening. The almain was followed by a pavan and then a saraband. When the queen called for a volta, it was just bad timing that Walsingham chose that moment to reappear. Peter's relief, though, was evident. Sara had warned him about the suggestive dance where the woman was lifted high in the air by her partner. It was the only Elizabethan dance where partners engaged in close body contact. The queen was reportedly fond of the volta. Would she and Dudley perform it?

With nothing to do until either Neal and Henry returned from the abbey or Peter concluded his meeting with Walsingham, Sara was free to absorb the sights and sounds of the evening. At a signal from Howard, the dance area cleared. Courtiers packed into a circle around the perimeter, Sara among them. Her heart beat faster as she watched for any sign that the queen would dance. Sure enough, it didn't take long for Dudley to lead Elizabeth to the center of the circle.

Robert Dudley was a handsome man with short dark hair and a rakish cropped beard. The way he bore himself reminded Sara of a strutting peacock. The effect was enhanced by the plumes in his cap.

The volta was every bit as scandalous as the descriptions Sara had read, although with all the layers of clothing Elizabethan women wore, they probably didn't feel anything when they were lifted up. Sara paid careful attention. The seed of a future book on Elizabethan dance was sprouting in her mind. If she used extensive research sources, she wouldn't appear to have an inside track of how the dances were actually performed.

"Stunning, isn't she?" a voice murmured in her ear.

She turned her head to see Thomas Howard standing behind her. In the crowd, she'd failed to notice his approach. She curtsied as she caught her breath. The man didn't look anything like Nigel . . . except in his eyes. And there was something about his voice which made fear slither through her stomach. 

Did he recognize her? She hoped the Swedish accent supplied by the language amulet would keep her identity a secret. "My lord," she murmured, acting the part of a shy Swedish princess. Her English was heavily accented.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, extending his hand palm up.

"I don't know the steps," she demurred.

"It would be my honor to teach you."

Should she? It would be a way to keep him preoccupied. Many of the other courtiers were dancing. Peter hadn't returned yet. "Then I gladly accept, your grace."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Walsingham led Peter through a side chamber into a small room furnished as an office. Waiting for them was William Cecil. The man was about fifty years old with a long steel-gray beard. He was eventually to be Lord High Treasurer. In 1569, he'd already served several years as Secretary of State. His face was lined with the cares of high office, making him look older than his years. Cecil was sitting at the desk, Neal's forged letter in his hand.

"Ambassador Karstan, I present to you Sir William Cecil," Walsingham said.

"I am honored, your grace," Peter said, removing his cap and giving a bow.

Cecil rose and returned the bow. "I assume you read this letter. Then you know who wrote it."

Peter nodded. "Philip II of Spain."

"How did you acquire it?"

"We suspect Philip of instigating papist sentiment in Sweden," Peter said, keeping his remarks as general as possible. It wasn't his intention to cause any problems for the Catholic faction in Sweden. The new king was married to a Polish woman who was responsible for relaxing restrictions on Catholics in Sweden. Under the circumstances, it was natural that Protestant factions would worry about Philip's interference. "One of my informants intercepted the letter and held onto it until my arrival. I was told that during this period the Duke of Norfolk was meeting with the Earl of Westmoreland at Brancepeth Castle near Durham."

Later in 1569, Howard, along with several others, would take part in an uprising known as the Rising of the North to depose Elizabeth. The insurgents' headquarters at Brancepeth was likely already known to Cecil. Referencing the location could increase Cecil's trust in Peter's story.

"This letter implies that the duke is responsible for the queen's betrothal to Lord Dudley," Cecil continued, his face an impassive mask. "Are you charging that Dudley is also plotting to overthrow the queen?"

Peter shook his head. "No, it's my belief that they're taking advantage of his sincere attachment to the queen. My informant warned me that the Duke of Norfolk is the ringleader in the plot. He's a member of a group of devil worshippers known as the Cult of Starry Wisdom."

Cecil's eyes narrowed when Peter mentioned the name. "I've heard of them. Reports of their influence have increased over the past couple of months."

"We've experienced their pernicious influence in Sweden," Peter said solemnly, lying through his teeth. "They worship someone called Azathoth. We're convinced that is their name for Satan. The leaders are called priests and particularly dangerous." He lowered his voice still further. "We've obtained clear proof that they're witches. For now they're allying themselves with papists, but their eventual aim is to overthrow governments and churches alike."

"Is this letter the only proof you have of the Duke's involvement?" Walsingham asked.

"If I may be so bold, what more do you need? Howard is a sorcerer who practices his foul deeds through witchcraft. Now he has ensnared the queen and Lord Dudley into his wicked scheme."

Cecil studied Peter for a moment, revealing nothing in his expression. "Your words are profoundly disturbing if true," he said noncommittally. "Do you have any material evidence besides this one letter?"

"I do. Dudley's perfume. It's in reality a love potion prepared either by the duke or by members of the cult. Ask Dudley where he got the perfume, and he will tell you Lord Howard gave it to him." Peter was swinging from the rafters with that wild leap, but Sara was sure Dudley's cologne was the same one used by Nigel in London. They'd discovered it had the same chemical base as the perfume worn by Raquel, and Neal was convinced that the priestess of Isis wore the same perfume. There had to be a connection. Why not a love potion?

"Anything else?" Cecil asked, raising a brow

"Have you inspected the embroidery on the underskirt of her majesty's gown? Among the plants and animals, there are some creatures that will give you pause. One is a demon associated with the Cult of Starry Wisdom. It's a creature shaped like a ball with black and yellow stripes. It has wings like a bat and several long tentacles. I ask you, have you ever seen a similar creature in England? Surely such a monstrosity could only serve Satan."

Was the case he outlined strong enough or would Cecil write him off as a crazy Viking?

Discovering the outcome of their actions was the weakest link of their plan. They'd know immediately if they'd successfully recovered the Elnath ruby in the crown—Peter refused to call the act _stealing_. He also had faith that Henry's thief skills were up to the challenge of lifting the crystal from the chain around Howard's neck. But the best way to find out if they'd managed to break off the engagement would be to hang around, and that introduced too many unknown factors.

The wisest choice among the limited options was to return to Arkham, wait a few weeks, and see if history would be rewritten. If not, they'd need to make a return trip.

"Thank you for sharing your views with us, Ambassador Kalmar," Cecil said. "I've kept you away from the festivities too long. I know you wish to return."

With a final low bow, Peter withdrew. Wishing he could be a fly on the wall accomplished nothing. A higher priority was checking in with Neal and Henry.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry paused at the entrance to the great hall. "You're positive this will work?" In his head were flashing sirens of impending disaster.

"It always has up to now," Neal said. "Remember, Mozzie used the same argument when El was worried about us catching smallpox."

"Then I should be the one," Henry insisted. "After all, I'm going to lift the dude's necklace. It would be a natural consequence."

Neal rolled his eyes. "We've already gone over this multiple times. I have to be the focus of attention. If it happened to you, nobody would think twice."

"Jeez, thanks. Next time I get to play a prince." Grumbling didn't reconcile Henry to a plan that even for him was too dangerous to pass muster. Neal was right that Henry was the only one who could lift the crystal, but Henry didn't want to think about what Peter's reaction would be. If Henry pointed out that they were simply living up to their moniker of scholar and adventurer reprobates, would it make any difference?

When they walked into the hall, a dance was going on in the center of the room. The queen had arrived and was sitting on a raised dais with a young dandy which Henry assumed to be Dudley.

"Change of plan," Neal murmured, his eyes locked onto the dancers. "Look who Sara's dancing with."

"Where?" 

"Off to the left, near the spectators."

The musicians were playing a lively tune. Sara's partner was Howard. They weren't touching each other but they were definitely a couple. "How do you want to play it?" Henry asked.

"Irate husband works for me," Neal said, glowering at them. "In Sweden, wives are only permitted to dance with their husbands."

"Is that true?"

"I have no idea, but it sounds good. I'm a prince, after all. And my Swedish curses will convince him of my wrath. Thanks to your language amulets, you and Sara will understand me. I'll be able to alert her on how to play it." Neal had no difficulty playing the role of an angry husband. He was already directing daggers at Howard with his eyes.

"Peter spotted us," Henry said. "He's heading our way."

"Good, but we need to be done before he arrives."

"Agreed." _And thus avoid the need for explanations._

Neal strode off, quickly making his way through the crowd of onlookers. Henry maintained a leisurely pace while preparing to move into position at the proper moment. By the time Neal reached Sara and Howard, his face blared outrage for the world to see. Henry could well imagine what images Neal was psyching himself up with. He'd been seething for a confrontation ever since he'd discovered Nigel was making a play for Sara. The moment had come.

Howard was facing away from Neal. When Sara spotted her fake husband, she stopped dancing, the smile on her face vanishing.

"Unhand my wife!" Neal demanded in Swedish, grabbing Sara's arm and pulling her behind him. "What devilry did you use on the princess? She never would have danced with you of her own free will." He repeated the words in heavily accented English before letting loose a string of obscenities in Swedish.

"Your wife was only too happy to dance with me," Howard blustered, quickly recovering from the shock. The couples immediately around them had stopped to watch, but the rest of the people in the hall didn't seem to notice. Most likely the queen was unaware of anything going on.

Neal lunged at him, targeting the side where Howard's dagger was sheathed. It appeared that Neal was reaching for it. Henry had positioned himself directly behind Howard.

A flash of steel.

Sara cried out as Neal staggered back, clutching his side. Howard stared at him, the bloodied dagger still in his hands.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter saw Neal approach Howard, he quickened his own pace. Surely he wasn't going to risk a confrontation. Or was this part of a scheme to seize the crystal?

He could see Neal arguing with Howard but he wasn't close enough to catch the words. The next thing he knew, Neal was lying on the floor. Sara slapped Howard's face as the courtier reached for her.

Damn the crowd for blocking his view. Peter charged through the onlookers, ignoring protocol.

By the time he got there, Howard was also on the floor, looking dazed. His chain was missing, and Henry was nowhere to be seen. Neal was sitting up with Sara crouched beside him. He murmured something in her ear as he pressed his hand to his side. Blood flowed between his fingers. His face had grown ashen.

"Your Highness," Peter blurted, barely remembering to address him correctly. "You're bleeding!"

"It's nothing. Just a graze." Brave words, but his face told another tale. Sara reached under her skirt to rip off a length of petticoat.

Peter spun to face Howard, clamping his foot onto his chest. "You did this!"

"I was simply trying to protect myself," Howard protested, his face almost as pale as Neal's. Two yeomen guards approached him from behind.

"He tried to kill my husband," Sara protested. "Arrest him immediately!"

Howard felt around his neck, his eyes widening "Where's my chain of office?" He scanned the floor frantically. "Who took it? Guards, search everyone!"

Cecil suddenly appeared behind them. "You can retrieve it later. Guards, take the duke to my office."

"Not until my chain is found!" Howard roared.

"You forget yourself," Cecil said dispassionately. "Haven't you caused enough of a disturbance?" He jerked his head to the guards. "Take him away." Turning to Neal, Cecil added, "Your Highness, I'll call for a physician."

"Thank you but that's not necessary," Neal said. "The ruffian merely grazed me." Sara had secured his side with several layers of cloth. Neal's eyes darkened. "But if I hadn't leaped back, it could have been much worse. I insist on being present during the questioning."

"As do I," Sara declared.

"I suggest we all retire to your chamber," Peter told Cecil in an undertone. "Her Majesty does not yet appear to be aware of what transpired, and that's for the best."

Cecil gave a brief nod and turned to the onlookers who were watching the proceedings with rapt attention. "The situation is under control. Please return to the dance." He proceeded to chat with the courtiers while Walsingham guided their group in the direction of the same chamber Peter had been in previously.

"How badly are you injured?" Peter murmured, supporting Neal as they followed Walsingham. Neal was leaning on him much more than a graze would warrant.

"It's nothing to be concerned about," Neal whispered back. "It will heal quickly."

Was he only saying that because he was counting on the wormhole? Sara was keeping pressure on the makeshift pad on his side and Peter didn't have a chance to examine the wound. Once they were in Cecil's office, Neal was able to rest on a carved oak settle along the wall. Sara used Neal's dagger to rip off more strips from her petticoat and bind the pad in place. Peter sat down next to them, burning with questions he couldn't ask.

When Cecil arrived, Howard immediately demanded, "Has my chain of office been found?"

"We have far more grave matters to consider," Cecil said calmly and turned to Neal. "Your Highness, I regret that we meet under such lamentable circumstances. May I offer you some wine?"

"Thank you but do not trouble yourself," Neal said with a resigned air. "We will retire to our quarters shortly. I arrived in the hall to see my wife dancing with the Duke of Norfolk. In Sweden, that is simply not done. Her ladyship would never consider dancing with anyone but me. She must have been coerced. When I accosted the Duke and ordered him to lay his hands off her, he attacked me."

"The prince is mistaken," Howard said, appearing to have tamped down on his anger. "I invited the princess to dance, not knowing that she was married. She accepted readily."

Sara rose, her face flushed. "He bewitched me! I never would have danced with him if he hadn't used witchcraft."

She stood slightly in front of Neal, who had locked his gaze on Howard. Beads of sweat were forming on Neal's brow. When he started to slide sideways, Peter grasped his shoulder and wedged his chest behind Neal's back to offer support.

Howard barked a short laugh. "Clearly she's trying to save herself from her husband's wrath. I apologize for the scratch, but surely you aren't going to believe sorcery was involved. It was an honest misunderstanding. I thought the prince was reaching for my dagger. It wasn't my intention to use it on him. I was trying to keep it out of his reach."

Sara pointed a trembling finger at Howard. "He's a sorcerer! He's in league with Satan!"

Neal breathed in short, ragged gasps. He was bathed in a viridian aura, making Peter wonder if he was trying to make himself invisible.

"You need to lie down, Your Highness," Peter urged. If the kid kept at it, he was going to hyperventilate his way into unconsciousness.

A cry from one of the guards caused Peter to look up. He gasped at Howard's transformation. Two horns emerged from the top of his head. His face was a fleshless skull with flaming red coals for eyes. Walsingham and Cecil staggered back in horror. They shouted frantic orders for the guards to seize Howard but the men looked too terrified to approach.

The effect only lasted a few seconds and then vanished. Neal sagged onto Peter and mumbled, "We need to leave . . . now."

Sara dropped onto the settle next to Neal. "The pad's soaked in blood," she whispered urgently.

Peter leaped up. "Now do you believe me? That man is a sorcerer. It's up to you to control him before he destroys your realm. I'm taking the prince and his wife away before Howard can target them again."

They strode out of the chamber with Neal supported on either side by Sara and Peter. Their exit was barely noticed. Walsingham and Cecil were busy arguing with Howard while the guards bound his hands behind his back.

Neal managed to hold himself upright till they were in the corridor then his legs gave way. Sara was caught off guard and sank down to the floor with him.

Henry was waiting for them in the passageway. He darted forward to assist.

"Give me a moment," Neal gasped, his face drenched with sweat.

"Sorry, kiddo. We're getting out of Dodge now," Henry said. "You can rest in the wormhole." He and Peter hoisted Neal upright. Jerking his head to the right, Henry added, "There's an alcove next to that tapestry. It's where I was waiting. It should give us enough cover."

"The sooner the better," a panic-stricken Sara urged.

The alcove was only a few steps away, but Neal's eyes were already closing. Peter pulled out the compendium and pressed the button, uttering a silent prayer that it didn't malfunction.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie was sitting in front of a bank of monitors in the lab when Neal jumped out of the vortex. Peter, Sara, and Henry followed in quick succession. Everyone was back in the garments they'd worn to enter the wormhole.

"You have the crystal?" Mozzie asked eagerly

"Not just one but two!" Neal said, retrieving the Black Prince's Ruby from his pouch. The chain of office was draped in splendor around Henry's neck.

"How do you feel?" Sara asked anxiously.

"I'm . . ."—Neal hesitated and modified his assessment. Judging by the set to Peter's jaw, he was in no mood for sugarcoating—"tired but otherwise fine."

"How about the wound?" Henry asked. "Any trace?"

Neal pulled up his navy turtleneck to look at his side. He turned around so they could all see his skin. All that lingered was a painful memory. Neal had little recollection of the attack by the saber-toothed leopard Sornoth on Merope, but he'd been fully conscious this time. Howard's blade had gone in much deeper than hopefully anyone realized. Not something he ever wanted to repeat, but the plan had worked.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Mozzie demanded. "Do you realize how difficult it's been for me, sitting here without updates? In the future, Milly and I will insist on a regular schedule of communications."

Peter's lips tightened into a thin line. "You may have preferred not knowing. Neal was stabbed by Nigel."

"But as you can tell, the wound is gone," Neal said, handing Mozzie the ruby. "The gem in Henry's necklace is also an Elnath crystal." A change of subject was in order before Peter questioned him further.

"We believe it was meant to be Nigel's escape route back to Tirelia," Sara explained. "We hope he's now stuck in 1569, awaiting trial for witchcraft, treason against the queen"—she slipped an arm around Neal's waist—"and, worst of all, attacking my husband."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

That night as Neal lay next to Sara in bed, she asked the question she knew was uppermost in Peter's mind. "Did you intend to be stabbed?"

Neal crossed his hands behind his head and gazed up at the full moon through the skylight. "Henry and I discussed it. When we were walking back from the Pyx Chamber, we realized that to make the charges stick, more than the letter would be needed. We also knew we had to create a diversion so Henry would have an opportunity to steal the chain of office."

"And my dance with Nigel presented the ideal opportunity," she said, resting her head on a propped-up elbow.

"It was a gift," he agreed. "Otherwise, I was going to approach him and strike up a conversation, somehow goading him into a response. I thought if I pretended to reach for his dagger, he'd simply punch me. We knew there was a chance I'd be stabbed, but I was hoping for a graze. Do you think he recognized you?"

"I believe so. He commented that I reminded him of someone he'd met in London who was a writer. How were you able to transform Nigel's appearance?"

Neal hesitated. "I don't think I can explain it. Milly said I was capable of manipulating algolnium energy, so I thought it was worth a shot. Seeing how he'd transformed himself to look like Howard is what gave me the idea. I focused on his face and imagined what he'd look like as a demon from Hades." He shrugged. "Glad it worked."

"And then some. You made a believer out of Cecil. I wish we knew what Nigel's actual appearance is."

"About all we know for certain is that his body chemistry contains a high percentage of algolnium."

"I don't blame you for seizing the chance to stop him." _Although you could have picked a less risky maneuver._

"You don't have to worry that I'll make a habit of flinging myself on my sword." He rubbed his side. "There's no wound, but I can still feel it. I have no desire to repeat the experiment."

Sara nodded, tamping down her fear. What if they hadn't been able to return the present so quickly? If the wormhole hadn't immediately formed when Peter activated the compendium, Neal could have died. But there was no point in bringing up the obvious. Neal already knew what a narrow escape he'd had.

So instead she snuggled beside him and gently stroked his chest. "I know a way to distract you from those memories."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Life quickly returned to normal after the extraordinary events in London. Even if Neal had wanted to step back and reflect, he couldn't—not with students waiting for him in the classroom. Everyone returned to their normal jobs. Mozzie and Peter also had courses to teach. Sara returned to the _Arkham Gazette_. Henry continued preparations for Talmadge Holdings to be relocated in Arkham. The university president had heard about the move and was ecstatic. He hoped it augured for an even tighter relationship with the university's major benefactor. Neal suspected Calvin's wish would very likely come true.

On a snowy afternoon a week later, Neal was working in his office at Wingate Hall when Henry stuck his head in. "Got a minute? I need to pick your brains." He glanced at the stack of books. "And it's not about whatever esoteric language you're studying at the moment."

"You mean you're not interested in Sanskrit loanwords occurring in Chinese? I'm shocked."

Henry grinned as he dropped onto the side chair. "I figured you'd need a break, but I didn't know how much. I think I may have found the perfect location for Talmadge Holdings. It's on Trinity Avenue not far from the university."

"I noticed the building next to Whateley Rare Books is on the market. Is that the one?"

"Yeah, it used to house law offices," Henry said. "The building has historic significance and features some interesting architectural details which Fei should like. The thing is, it badly needs a facelift. Not just minor stuff. Some of the areas will have to be gutted. That's not unexpected since I was planning to have it rewired anyway. But since it's on the historic registry, I'll have to work with an architect. Do you have any recommendations before I start combing through the Yellow Pages?"

"The job sounds perfect for a friend of mine. Name of Eric Torres. He graduated from Miskatonic a few years ahead of me. He's about your age."

"If he left Miskatonic before you, how'd you meet him?"

"Eric's mom is in the Spanish department at the university," Neal explained. "I took a course on Old Castilian with her. The language developed from a variant of colloquial Latin which was spoken—"

Henry made an _X_ with his hands. "Too much info."

Neal grinned. "Gee, I was just warming up to recite the epic _Poem of the Cid_. You'd love it."

Henry snorted. "Now I know you're joshing me. Is Eric as much an egghead as you? Will he and I even talk the same lingo?"

"You two should get along well. He likes beer and rock music. He hangs out at the coffeehouse a lot and has probably heard you play." Neal hesitated. Should he mention Eric was gay? Henry might think he had an ulterior motive and that wasn't the case.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you're good friends."

Neal nodded. "Eric was Jack's roommate in college. That's where I first met him. He'd like to specialize in restoring old buildings but he's just getting started. I imagine jobs are tough to come by."

"I didn't know you and Jack went back that far."

"Yeah, he was in the fine arts program at Miskatonic."

"How did he wind up running a coffeehouse?"

Peter's arrival interrupted Neal's explanation. "We did it!" he told them triumphantly.

"The queen's no longer betrothed?" Neal asked, growing excited in turn.

Peter gave a satisfied nod. "I stopped by the library this afternoon and Lavinia brought my attention to a textbook on the Tudors. In it, Elizabeth was never engaged to Robert Dudley."

"Does it mention anything about a conspiracy involving the Duke of Norfolk?" Henry asked.

Peter smiled. "I'm glad you asked. Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, was executed in the summer of 1569. He was accused of working with King Philip of Spain to restore Catholicism. The duke was further convicted of practicing witchcraft. There were rumors that he used witchcraft to advance the cause of Lord Dudley. Mention was also made of a love potion."

"Was Dudley implicated?" Neal asked.

"He was imprisoned for a short while but subsequently released. The tribunal believed he'd been an innocent victim. The only significant changes to what earlier occurred are that the Duke was executed three years earlier and witchcraft was included in his charges," Peter added. "Both are acceptable deviations under the circumstances."

"Cyrus told me that he'd obtained a chemical analysis of the Black Prince's Ruby currently in the Imperial Crown," Henry said. "He's convinced that it's the same jewel Milly created."

"Any word on how the rubies we brought back enhance Milly's capabilities?" Peter asked.

"We're one step closer to being able to create wormholes to other worlds. Milly explained that crystals of three different colors are still needed: sapphire-blue, emerald, and topaz. Knowing the colors helps refine the search. Lavinia has programmed them into her database and is combing through history to find them." Neal took a breath. "They're out there somewhere, I know it." With the access to Tirelia in Freemont Forest closed off, the wormholes Mozzie and Milly created were limited to Earth.

Henry perched on the edge of Neal's desk. "The question is do the Ymar know it as well?"

Neal looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

"We've been assuming that Nigel was there to assist the cult in controlling the queen. But he may have also learned about the Black Prince's Ruby. We know the Ymar enslaved Elnath scientists. Azathoth may have the ability to locate crystals too."

"You could be onto something," Peter agreed. "Milly makes use of Celaenian technology. The Elnath could have other means at their disposal. You should bring it up at the next SCAGR meeting."

"I intend to," Henry agreed. "It won't change our plans, but it adds an extra degree of urgency."

Neal nodded. "And gives us another reason to return to Tirelia. Perhaps someday we can free the Elnath scientists, even work together."

Peter eyed him for a moment. "Not to be a wet blanket, but any idea on how you'll accomplish those objectives?"

Neal frowned. "Goals are good, Peter. I want the world to be a safer place for Baby Gilman."

"On that we all agree."

* * *

_Notes: I hope you enjoyed your stay in Arkham! Two crystals were recovered, the timeline was restored, and everyone escaped without lasting damage. Not a bad outcome for the team. But Lavinia is uneasy. Were any anomalies created by their actions? Time travel can cause unpredictable repercussions which can take a while to appear. She might point to Penna Nomen's story A Caffrey Christmas Carol as an example. It not only included time travel but also alternate universes. As a result of that experience, Henry's been holding onto a copper penny from the year 2012. That penny is the subject of my next Arkham Files story. The title is Penny Exchange and I'll begin posting it in late November._

_Next week I'll zip back to New York with a Caffrey Conversation story, Attack of the Kraken. In Neal's timeline, it's late March. A few weeks have passed since his New Orleans adventure, Voodoo Remoulade. It's time to liven things up!_ _I've written an introductory post for our blog, called "[Backstage at Attack of the Kraken](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/08/backstage-at-attack-of-kraken.html)."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Story visuals and music: The Queen's Gambit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_  
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


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